


You Shine So Bright (But Let Me See Just You)

by peanutbutterpianist



Series: Firsts Are Complicated (Should They Be?) [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Firsts, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Supportive Katsuki Yuuri, Yuuri Initiating Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:03:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10332167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peanutbutterpianist/pseuds/peanutbutterpianist
Summary: First Request, Part One (First Cuddles):The night of the banquet is nothing like last year's (thankfully, Yuuri thinks). But in the absence of Liquid Courage and the presence of his fiance, all sorts of things are tumbling around his head and wreaking havoc on his heart.He's not the only one who's struggling with opening up in this relationship, apparently, but he'll happily meet Victor where he is, too.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Firsts can be all sorts of things: first crushes, first dates, first confessions, first kisses, first times.
> 
> Or Firsts can be a little more...complicated. This series explores some more unconventional Firsts for Victor and Yuuri as they navigate life and love together.

            Yuuri didn’t understand _why_.

            So many _whys_.

            Why he was doing what he was doing at the moment. Why Victor was responding the way that he was, which was, frankly, confusing. It was giving him a headache.

            Perhaps most importantly, Yuuri didn’t know why he hadn’t bothered _stopping_ himself in light of all of the unanswered _whys_ running around and knocking into each other in his headspace. His brain felt like it was developing a bruise. He _really_ needed an aspirin, and soon.

            He’d made it back to their hotel after the GPF, shadowed by his bright and bubbly coach, and Yuuri felt… _something_. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what to call it, but what he did know was that he didn’t want to be too far from Victor’s side.

            It was _weird_.

            The feeling had cropped up the moment they’d stepped out of the stadium. Whatever that _it_ was only got worse in the elevator, as their hips brushed like it somehow wasn’t a big deal. Which it sort of wasn’t—the contact felt good. It was the stepping away that felt unearthly _weird._ Yuuri felt like he was slowly tugging on a self-adhesive bandage when he showered by himself—which was _ridiculous_. He and Victor hadn’t bathed together since leaving Hasetsu.

            Then there was the banquet, and Yuuri still couldn’t stop feeling that…that _something._ That weird, nagging _something_.

            It wasn’t like Yuuri had particularly minded the looks Victor got at the banquet; he _was_ uncomfortable with the gazes and attention lapped all over _himself_ , though. Which he had expected. But he absolutely _loathed_ being dragged away to make small talk while Victor proudly smiled and waved and made goofy faces at him from across the room, no doubt to liven Yuuri’s mood and alleviate some of his loneliness.

            Were his feelings really that obvious? Were they smeared across his face in red paint or something?

            They danced a little. Nothing like the prior year, of course, as Yuuri pointedly stayed far away from the booze. He took two or three obligatory sips of champagne at the toasts, to be polite, and left the rest. Victor had looked a little funny when Yuuri set down what remained of his drink. The Russian promptly downed the rest of his own fluke in one long swig, and his expression cleared within moments, leaving Yuuri a little puzzled. It was amusing to catch the moment when the faint blush on Victor’s paper-white skin migrated from the tip of his nose to the high peaks of his cheeks.

            Yuuri edged closer to Victor; he wasn’t even remotely buzzed, he knew this logically, but nonetheless felt a little fuzzy-headed. _Why?_

            Yuuri had _wanted_ to dance with Victor, sure, but…just not like this. Not that there was anything _wrong_ with how they were dancing, of course. It was fun, it was upbeat, and despite Yuuri’s growing exhaustion and understandable soreness, he felt like he was sweeping the taller Russian man off his feet. Victor was beaming, looking as giddy as a small child set loose in a pet store, panting softly into Yuuri’s freshly washed black locks and clinging on tightly through each dip Yuuri led him into. Victor was adorable, and mesmerizing, and wonderfully warm even through his suit jacket.

            But what Yuuri really wanted, somewhere deep down, wasn’t a fun, lighthearted dance in a crowded room to Vivaldi and Glenn Miller and something Brazillian blasted over the PA speakers. He wanted to pull his fiancé— _fiancé_ , what a word!—against himself until there was no way to tell where one body ended and the other began. He wanted to rock the Russian back and forth, easily, lazily, somewhere quiet and dark and alone. No fancy footwork, no flashy tucks or spins, no absurdly flattering but restrictive suits and ties. No loud world watching and laughing and _oohing_ and _aahing_ over them. Maybe Yuuri wouldn’t have even bothered with music; he could’ve hummed something soft and tender and probably off-key into Victor’s ear and been more than happy with that.

He wasn’t sure _why_ he wanted something like that, but he wanted it. So badly.

            Yuuri felt himself flush as the ideas percolated in his mind; luckily, he could brush off the color of his cheeks as exertion from the dance with little difficulty. He felt a little bad for not focusing on dancing like he should, but he really couldn’t help it, and Victor didn’t seem to notice, gauging by his open laughs and exhilarated cries of _Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri!_ as they swept around the room. The crowd parted for them as they spun, the gesture miraculous and unsettling to Yuuri’s stomach.

            At least he was close to Victor, though. That helped.

            He still wanted nothing but to get Victor back to their room, alone.

            What a weird thought, Yuuri mused. Perhaps even a little creepy. Maybe he was overtired.

            Thankfully, they didn’t stay out insanely late; by the time they slipped back into their hotel room, it was only a little after midnight. Victor’s champagne-inspired buzz was but a distant memory, though his flush remained. Yuuri found himself surprisingly awake as the door clicked behind them and he heard the delicate slip of Victor’s silk tie being undone. He wasn’t jittery, not really at least. Not anxious, either. Just…

            Well, he wasn’t sure. Expectant? Maybe.

But expecting what, exactly?

            …Oh _hell_ _no_. He and Victor had barely started _kissing_. Yuuri knew that he would likely self-petrify into an unrecognizable block of nerves if he even _thought_ about going further than that with Victor at this point.

            So _that_ wasn’t it. Yuuri wasn’t looking for something like _that_ ( _dammit_ , he couldn’t even bring himself to use the _word_ for _it_ in his own mind). He knew that he didn’t want to turn in for the night. But he _was_ tired, physically. And mentally. And emotionally, too, if he could bring himself to dig that deep. Maybe it was simply a not-readiness to sleep.

            He snuck into the bathroom wordlessly to strip and change into the heather sweats he’d packed—the room wasn’t all _that_ cold, but he was feeling it a little bit more thanks to the physical strain of the day.

            When he’d returned, Victor was seated on one of the beds, leaning up against the wall with a small mountain of pillows behind him. _He must not be ready to sleep yet, either_ , Yuuri thought.

            Victor was also fully clothed, for a change: he wore a pair of thick flannel pants and a long-sleeved white cotton shirt. He looked… _odd_.

            “Victor?” Yuuri ventured, padding toward the bed. His voice seemed much louder than he’d intended it to be, and Yuuri flinched a little at the sound of it. Victor blinked up at him, almost looking surprised, as though he had somehow not noticed Yuuri’s presence, despite looking in his direction for at least a minute straight. _Weird_. “Can I…can I join you?”

            Victor blinked again, eyes stretched and dark like those of a baby deer. “Oh… _oh_!” It seemed as if Victor’s brain had just rebooted itself into coherence. “Of course, Yuuri! Here, I’ll scoot over—”

            “It’s fine,” Yuuri interrupted, “just stay there.”

            They’d hugged today. A _lot_. And they’d danced tonight. A _lot_. But Yuuri felt weird as he approached, looking at Victor, who also looked weird. There was a _why_ worming its way through Yuuri’s brain once again. What was so odd about this?

            Yuuri sat beside Victor, sliding his legs beneath the sheets and shuffling close enough for their thighs to touch. The bed quivered beneath them.

            Was Victor…expecting _something_? He seemed on edge, but…

            No. Victor didn’t look flirtatious, or hungry, or suave, or anything that usually said _I’d like to do unmentionable things with you_. He looked a little bit…

            _Unsure_.

            “Victoru,” Yuuri murmured, taking Victor’s left hand in his own. He glanced over to Victor’s right hand, where his ring still lived, now a steadying presence even after these few short days in Barcelona. “Are you okay? Is there something on your mind?”

            Victor opened his mouth, but snapped it shut again upon glancing up to Yuuri’s face; he must have read the _don’t bullshit me_ Yuuri was thinking. “Yes, Yuuri, I’m okay.” He gave a little half-smile. “And, I’m not sure…it’s not that I’m _thinking_ about anything, so much as…” He fidgeted with their joined hands. They were getting a little clammy. “I don’t know.”  
            Yuuri hummed. At least Victor was being honest. “What are you feeling, then?”

            Victor’s entire face tightened into a single point, eyebrows coming together in focus for a long moment. “I don’t know. I really just…don’t know.” His thumb rubbed against the soft but chaffed skin along Yuuri’s knuckles idly.

            Yuuri wasn’t sure _why_ he moved. But he did, and he wasn’t about to back away from it unless Victor wanted him to. Frankly, Victor didn’t seem sure of what he wanted either, frozen in place as Yuuri scooted himself over until he was halfway _in_ Victor’s lap. Their knees knocked together, and Yuuri slumped down until his head rested against the Russian’s chest.

            “Is this…is this okay?” he asked after a moment of realizing Victor hadn’t actually _breathed_ since had repositioned himself. Which was worrying and downright… _weird_.

            Victor seemed to snap to attention when prompted. “Oh! Yes, this is…fine, Yuuri. Of course. It’s fine. It’s…fine.” The words slowly petered off into nothing.

            Something was wrong.

Yuuri forced his voice to come out steady. “Victor, it’s okay if it’s not fine. Just tell me.”

            “No, no! Stay! Please stay, Yuuri. I don’t even know what I’m doing.” Victor laughed at himself then, the sound hollow and a little hysterical and completely _wrong_.

Victor’s arms were hanging limply at his sides.

Yuuri felt cold.

He reached for Victor’s right hand this time, pulling it to his lips to lay a gossamer touch on his ring finger. “Victor,” he murmured, shifting a little to look up at his fiancé’s face. “Please tell me if I’m doing something wrong. I’m sorry—”

            “Nothing’s _wrong_ with you, Yuuri,” he hissed, a little sharp, a little breathless. “You’re not doing anything wrong. It’s me.” The words came out in a rush.

            Yuuri was silent. What was that even supposed to mean? Victor’s face gave away nothing as he hid it behind his free hand.

            _Why?_ Why was he hiding?

            Yuuri would never know if he stayed quiet, would he?

            “What do you mean?” He let his head drop again; it was pointless craning his neck up when Victor wasn’t going to share anything in his expression anyway. He didn’t press any closer, so they hardly touched at all, Yuuri’s forehead barely leaning against Victor’s collarbone. “Victor, just _try_ to talk to me. Please?”

            It was a long moment before the Russian spoke, and when he did, it was the slowest Yuuri had ever heard him utter _anything_. He spoke slower than after too many shots of sake back in Hasetsu, or when he had attempted some conversation in basic Japanese with Yuuri’s parents over the phone a week ago.

            Yuuri made sure to pay attention.

            “I’m scared.” Victor took a soft breath. “This scares me.” He shrugged in a vague gesture to how Yuuri was semi-settled against him. “ _This_ scares me.”

            Yuuri felt something in his chest shatter at the words. So this _was_ wrong, after all. This… _this_. This _thing_ they had. This closeness…Victor didn’t want it after all?

Yuuri tried to speak around the growing lump in his throat, tried to ignore the doubling of his own pulse and the cold tingle scritching at his spine. “Do you want me to stop? I can just go back to my bed—”

            “No!” Victor nearly shouted the word, except there was too much breath and too much _something_ , and so it came out as a whispered scream instead. “No,” he repeated, more gently, “I want this, but…it’s hard.”

            Yuuri didn’t understand. Did Victor want any of this, or not? He pushed down the growing chill of anxiety, squishing it in the pit of his stomach to muddle with whatever frustration was growing there, and refused to let it creep any higher. Not until his head had figured at least _some_ of this out. His heart wouldn’t be able to handle much of anything just yet.

Victor was so, _so_ physical, _so_ affectionate. He probably had more— _dammit_ , that word, he needed to mentally _say_ it— _sexual_ prowess in his pinky finger than Yuuri possessed in his whole body, and this wasn’t even remotely sexual at all…

            _Oh_. Was…was _that_ what was hard, maybe? Because they _weren’t_ doing… _things_? But that didn’t make very much sense, so…

            Yuuri _had_ to press the issue.

            “Why?” he asked, simply, letting himself settle down against Victor’s chest a little, cheek lightly resting against his sternum. He tried to ignore what he heard and felt there, because Victor stiffened, and he wasn’t sure if was from the question, or from the new contact. Was it unwelcome? “What about this scares you, Victor? I don’t understand. Help me understand, please.” He tried to sound gentle, but he really wished Victor could see his face. He could probably paint all the emotions he didn’t have names for on his face, and he knew Victor would somehow understand. He always had before, at least.

            Victor was quiet again for a long, long while. He breathed much too shallowly—it reminded Yuuri a bit of his own anxiety attacks, and concern coiled like a serpent, taut and dangerous, in his belly. He wanted to reach for Victor and clutch him close, but he was too afraid of what might happen.

            “You can hear my heart beating, right Yuuri?” Victor finally whispered. He was stiff as a board.

            Yuuri felt his brows quirk. “Yes.” It was almost a question.

            “That…” Victor swallowed, hard and tense. “I don’t know how I feel about that. I don’t let people do that.”

            Yuuri took that in for a moment. Did Victor never let people in that close? Or did he not let them get close enough for long enough? Or was he only ever close with people when it was loud, when he was chatty and excited and breathtakingly _bright_ , shining in a room like a pale sun, surrounded by other—albeit dimmer—stars?

            Oh. Maybe Victor felt…

            _Vulnerable_. And maybe it scared him.

            Of course. _That_ made perfect sense. Yuuri hated feeling vulnerable, too, or at least, he used to. Victor had helped him so much with that…

            Oh.

            _Dammit_.

            Yuuri felt his own heart break a little.

            “Okay,” he said after a moment, speaking slowly, clearly. “That…makes sense. I don’t let people do that, either. But you already knew that.” Yuuri chuckled a little, and he felt Victor relax a millimeter against him as he instinctively mirrored the laugh.

            “Yeah, I guess you do understand,” Victor admitted. He took a proper breath, finally, and some of Yuuri’s tension eased with it. “But you’ve gotten so much more comfortable with being close lately. I guess I should be jealous of your progress.”

            Yuuri chewed at the inside of his cheek. “Well, it’s mostly just with you, though…I trust you, so it’s usually okay. I-I even like it. Sometimes.” _So much for clarity of speech, Katsuki Yuuri_. The younger man nearly wanted to smack himself for that stutter.

            Victor laughed a bit, a _little_ more normally. He slowly moved his arms to gently cage Yuuri against him; it wasn’t a true hold, it was so light, and his fingertips were trembling. “I want to trust you too, Yuuri,” he said after a moment, “I really do. It’s just…hard, when we’re like this. It’s different out _there_ , with the lights and the people and the music and…well, there’s none of that right here, you know? And everything out _there_ is…is _over_.”

            Of course Yuuri knew. He wasn’t a big fan of that world, to be honest. And he had been afraid of the end of everything, too: the end of the GPF, and where that left the two of them. He understood that all too well. “It’s just us here,” Yuuri murmured, nodding.

Honestly? It’s what _he_ wanted. Even if it was new and a little terrifying, even if he had no experience in _things_ like this, even if it was uncomfortable. He wanted it, he wanted Victor and _just_ Victor.

            But did it make Victor uncomfortable, too?

            Apparently so.

            _Why?_

            “Yeah,” Victor huffed, finally responding and bringing Yuuri out of his own head and back into the moment. “And that’s…kind of terrifying. Because I can’t hide _anything_ from you if you’re this close. Which is a stupid fear, because I _want_ to be close to you, and I want to know everything about you. And I shouldn’t _want_ to hide anything from you anyway—I _don’t,_ I promise!—it’s just…” He trailed off.

            Yuuri nuzzled his cheek around a little bit. This was starting to make _too_ much sense, all of a sudden. Victor’s words sounded all too much like they should belong to the unnamed feelings that brewed in his gut and constricted his chest and kept his mouth shut these past few months. “For what it’s worth—and I know this is probably selfish of me, but—I _like_ this.” He sighed, but continued, not because he felt particularly bold, but because he knew too well the stabbing ache of uncertainty, of wanting to open up to someone but being afraid to do so because of what they might think. He wouldn’t _dare_ subject Victor to those feelings. Never. “I like being close to you, Victor. I like how warm you are. I like being able to feel it when you breathe, and when you laugh, and when you fidget because you’re nervous. It’s kind of…sweet, I guess.” Yuuri was smiling, and it even sounded like it to his own ears, somehow. “I like holding your hand, even if it makes me nervous sometimes, and I like having your arms around me like this, even if I act annoyed by it sometimes. I like hearing your heartbeat, too, because it reminds me that you’re _human_ and you’re scared of things just like I am, and—and I guess that makes me want to protect you from the world, or something. It gets too loud and bright out there to see you properly, I think; sometimes I really just want to see _you_ , and only _you_ , and how bright and loud _you_ are. All by yourself. No distractions. Just you being _you_.”

Victor was frozen again. It felt like his heart was bouncing against Yuuri's cheek like a rubber ball, rhythm just a little incoherent and a lot too fast.

The silence was starting to worry Yuuri. He’d babbled, he knew it, but he didn’t think he’d said anything inherently… _wrong_ , had he? “Talk to me, Victor. Please?”

Victor made a choking sound, startled. “What?” His feet shuffled around.

“Just…tell me about your day. What you liked about it. What frustrated you. What you felt when I was on the podium. If you had fun at the banquet earlier.” The unsteady rhythm of Victor's pulse seemed to stop for a brief second; if Yuuri weren't so full of concern at the moment, he noted that he might have found it ridiculously endearing. He filed the sound of it away in the back of his brain to keep his focus on the moment at hand.

“W-Why?” Victor managed to splutter, swallowing thickly. One of his hands knotted itself in the fabric of Yuuri’s sweatshirt where it was clumped loosely at his waist.

Yuuri chortled under his breath, forcing any rising tension to bubble out with it. He was in too deep; he needed to keep being honest. For Victor’s sake. No matter how hard it may be to get the words out—Victor didn’t need to know that, at least not right now. “Because I want to know.” The words were soft but solid, and Yuuri was a little proud of himself for it. “Because I like spending time with you. Because Victor Nikiforov the Five-Time Gold Medalist, who dances like a champion and charms everyone downstairs at the banquet just by batting his eyelashes is great and all...but Victor Nikiforov the Dork, who spoils his dog rotten and can't spell in English worth a darn is so much better, I think. I like _that_ Victor a lot, you know.”

Victor was statue-still for a handful of nanoseconds before he breathed out in a long, heavy rush, a good bit of tension slipping out with it, as he leaned back further into his pile of pillows against the wall. He laughed normally for the first time since coming back to the room, and the arms around Yuuri tightened, though they still trembled a little bit. Which was fine, Yuuri decided. This was progress, at least.

“Okay,” Victor said, sounding so much more like himself, just...softer. Much, much softer. Something in Yuuri simultaneously unfurled and came to life right then, rather like a wild animal being released into fresh air for the first time. He fleetingly wondered _why_ he felt like that, but couldn’t be bothered to try to stop.

Victor talked about how worried he'd been that morning; how he'd knocked his knee into the coffee table in their room as Yuuri slept in and become convinced that Yuuri was actually not human for being able to doze completely undisturbed despite his outburst. He'd really enjoyed breakfast except that he'd somehow grabbed decaf coffee instead of regular by mistake, which was decidedly nasty; he'd been so, so proud of Yuuri, so caught up in the beauty and perfection of his performance, and felt like Yuuri had skated only for him in a stadium of thousands; he'd loved dancing downstairs at the banquet, loved seeing people's surprised and mildly appalled faces, and was amazed that Chris managed to keep all of his clothes on through an _entire bottle_ of moscato. He thought Yuuri’s iridescent ivory tie brought out his eyes perfectly; he was apparently a little miffed by all the appreciative looks the Japanese man had unknowingly received, especially by women, whenever he walked away from a group of fans. He thought Yurio did marvelously, of course, but could still see potential that the boy wasn’t taking advantage of yet, because, well he was still a _boy_. He apparently hadn’t paid much attention to the Canadian skater, who’s name he couldn’t remember at the moment, but for some reason the crowd had gone wild over his routine, which he couldn’t wrap his head around.

Victor babbled. He talked about everything, from his thought processes on his choice of cologne for the evening to the minutiae of what each competitor commented to him about Yuuri’s performance—minus the Canadian, of course. He’d mentally checked out at that point, and started checking out how Yuuri’s suit hugged his thighs _so perfectly_ and then caught a glance of Christophe’s getup and for the first time since befriending the man, had questioned the other skater’s fashion sense because _what was with that belt?_

He rambled, growing happier and more excited and yet somehow more relaxed with each meandering line of thought. Yuuri slumped against him, content with the rumble of his voice and the permeating warmth of his arms and the still-loud but steadying beat of his heart. Yuuri found himself lightly drawing squiggles and nonsense words into the skin at Victor's hip with his fingertips. Yuuri didn’t say much himself; he mostly just hummed along, sometimes asking for some clarification or laughing along with the silver-haired talking monster he was cuddled up against. The feral creature that had starting roaming around Yuuri’s insides felt sated, full, like it might burst open with each giddy train of thought that his fiancé shared.

            But then Victor abruptly stopped, mid-sentence, breaking his prattling about Phitchit's costume choices. “Yuuri!” he exclaimed, jolting up to sit straight as a pin, causing the Japanese man to look up abruptly in alarm. “It's almost two in the morning!”

Yuuri blinked wide chocolate eyes at him, confused. “Okay...so? Are you tired?”

“Well no, but, I've been talking for almost an hour!” The Russian sounded panicked.

_What the hell?_ Yuuri blinked again, rather owlishly. “And?”

Victor huffed. “You haven’t stopped me yet!” He sounded like a petulant child, but there was something else— _something_ else—in his glimmering turquoise gaze that threatened to break Yuuri’s heart all over again.

What there something glaringly obvious that Yuuri was missing? “Should I have?”

For a split second, the older man looked like he’d been shot; maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Or maybe it _was_ the right thing, just…uncomfortable, perhaps. Yuuri’s chest tightened. “I want you to enjoy your night, Yuuri!” Victor whined. “Today was _your_ day, _your_ time to outshine everyone—which you _did_ —and now here I am talking about _myself_! You should have stopped me by now.”

_Why?_ “I wanted to hear about your day,” the younger man grumbled blithely, pinching the Russian’s side with a playful glint in his eye. A few puzzle pieces were snapping together as Yuuri took in the gloss in Victor’s eyes and the tension in his brow, and it made him feel bolder. “I wanted to know what’s been on your mind. I waited patiently for this all night at the banquet. This here is _exactly_ what I want.” He grazed a hand down the clothed line of Victor’s right forearm, where goose pimples were prickling just beneath the thin cotton. “I _am_ enjoying myself, being with you like this, Victor. So, what's the problem?" Yuuri could feel himself smiling and his cheeks starting to warm.

Victor let out a noisy breath, argument rapidly deflating and the indignance on his face draining with it. “Oh.” Yuuri shifted in his lap and caught his eye, and Victor suddenly beamed. _Got him_ , Yuuri thought, with a small shiver of triumph. “Okay! Did I tell you about the lady I bumped into in the public bathroom at the stadium? The one I ended up in by mistake cause I’d gotten lost while you were warming up? She'd gotten lost, too, apparently, but she said she knows Yakov somehow, which seemed sketchy since her Russian was _atrocious_ —you wouldn't believe it Yuuri!” And with that, he took off again, Yuuri tucked securely into his chest as he talked.

Yuuri let his eyes fall shut, though he still didn't feel like sleeping. This was so much better anyway. He let another five minutes go by until suddenly, something else snapped into place, another missing puzzle piece filling in an important detail. His breath caught in his throat as Victor gushed about the glances Yurio was throwing at that Kazakhstani skater earlier, and Yuuri knew he had to make a move. Now, while he was still feeling brave.

He didn’t ask himself why.

“Victor,” he interrupted, sitting up abruptly. The other man fell silent, prompt and startlingly obedient, looking a little cross-eyed. The creature that had been lying sated in Yuuri’s chest sat up too, sharply attentive, and prowled forward, limber and careful. “May I kiss you?” Yuuri’s tone came out low and soft, and foreign to his own ears. Somehow it didn’t feel weird, though, as Yuuri was too wrapped up in watching Victor’s bewildered reaction.

Victor’s confusion only lasted a moment, to be replaced with something akin to mirth; his crystalline eyes had little crow’s feet as he smirked. “Is this your way of telling me to shut up?” There was still something darker in the words, hidden though they may be, and Yuuri wasn’t about to ignore it.

“No,” he replied, fighting the urge to look down or away or anywhere but at Victor’s face. It was time to be confident, time to take what was _his_ , dammit. Time to settle whatever was brewing in Victor’s heart, too. “I just want to kiss you. May I?” he asked again, firm.

Something must have shifted on his own face, because Victor’s cross-eyed look came back; the sight made Yuuri picture a white rabbit, lost in a open field for the first time. But he nodded assent, and Yuuri got right to it.

It wasn’t exactly an aggressive kiss, in the sense that it wasn’t rough, and it wasn’t quite demanding, either. But Yuuri’s hands were steady, one on the back of Victor’s head, fingers twisting into the silky strands of hair there, and the other unmistakably planted on Victor’s chest, above the thrum of his heart as it sped into the touch. Victor twitched, but otherwise didn’t protest. When their lips met, the Russian let out a little mewling whine that went straight to Yuuri’s gut. _So noisy, Victor,_ he thought, impossibly fond; he felt his mouth curving up into a smile uncontrollably. The creature in Yuuri’s chest felt like it was purring, sinking it’s claws into Victor were the Russian’s lips were pressed, pliant and slick, against Yuuri’s own, and something warm but a touch possessive washed through Yuuri’s mind.

It wasn’t a terribly long kiss; it lasted exactly eighty-six beats of Victor’s heart from start to finish, with twelve perfectly shared breaths, only six of which occurred before Yuuri’s tongue became a steady, gnarled sculpture around his fiancé’s own.

Victor— _this_ Victor, who was melting into an endearing, whimpering puddle, not the charming champion who wooed the world—was _his._ This moment was _theirs_ and theirs alone.

Yuuri pulled back, separating their lips _so_ quietly, _so_ carefully, watching Victor’s eyes slowly blink open and focus themselves. He wondered if Victor understood, if he had any idea what had just happened or what was going on in Yuuri’s head. He just looked dazed and adorably innocent, which did strange things to Yuuri’s heart. He didn’t have a name for the feeling brewing there, but it reminded him of how he felt when Vicchan, as a four-month-old puppy, had been chased and barked at by someone’s German shepherd, and came running into the safety of Yuuri’s arms. Something about that feeling made him want to bundle Victor up close to himself and shoo away any unseen bigger dogs, too.

Yuuri was smiling, regardless, feeling perfectly warm in Victor’s lap with Victor’s long arms around him, hands knotted together at the small of his back. “So, what were you saying about Yurio and Otabek?” Yuuri prompted, voice soft and earnest, drinking in the coolness of the other’s too-blue eyes.

Victor blinked rapidly a few times, stuttering a bit, visibly regaining his bearings. “Oh! You mean that, er, that Kazakhstani skater? Yes, _okay_!” And with that, he took off chattering again, Yuuri’s gaze trained on his rosy face and the rapid-fire motion of his kissed-plush lips. Yuuri’s hand was still settled comfortably over his fiancé’s heart, and it felt so, _so_ right.

Perfectly. Unquestionably. Normal.

This here—this, _right here—_ was _Yuuri’s_ Victor, excited but at ease, talking Yuuri’s ear off with eyes glimmering like a child’s on Christmas morning, expressions comically sliding between extremes every few moments as he told his stories. This was _Yuuri’s_ Victor, open and honest and a wonderfully vulnerable, sharing his thoughts and feelings and stupidly expensive hotel bed sheets with him. This was _Yuuri’s_ Victor, so close— _so close_ —to him that Yuuri himself hardly knew where he ended and Victor began.

Yuuri couldn’t stop smiling.


End file.
